Hushababy
by RenaRoo
Summary: Death is around every corner, no matter how hard Cass tries


Prompt: ( anonymous ) Dude, Cass meets Death and challenges her to a fight so she won't take [insert loved one here] away?

A/N: So the comics I used in reference to this in order are _Batgirl_ (2000-2006) #25, #19, #2, and a small reference to #21. Hopefully this meta posturing is as interesting for people to read as it was for me to write lol And no, I don't think you need to read those issues to get the story (though it would help!)

Batman, Sandman and related properties © DC Comics & Vertigo  
story © RenaRoo

 **Hushababy**

 _"What I don't understand is_ ** _why._** _Why did you want to die?"_

 _"I… killed a man."_

 _"Just_ ** _one?_** _"_

 _"I watched… him_ ** _die._** _"_

 _"_ ** _So?_** _You mean to tell me — Ah. Your_ ** _gift._** _Reading your opponent's intentions. You saw him die… as_ ** _he_** _saw it."_

 _"Terror. Then… nothing."_

[ _Batgirl_ (2000-2006) #25]

* * *

Cassandra looked at the red guilt dripping from her fists. Then to the gurgling man, watching the hollow blankness eating away at the fear, the pain. The terror. She watched him be engulfed by the nothing that was death.

Death came with a smile that day – a sad one, expected and ready. Death did not speak out loud, but young Cassandra could read body language all the same.

 _I come for every man, woman, and child. I come for all creatures who breathe a first and a last. but today I come by your hands. My gift should not be underestimated._

Eight years old and Cassandra broke four bones escaping her father that day.

It was the first day of many days she would spend running from him, and running from _her._

* * *

She had kissed him, on the cheek, and hoped that it would translate. That her _thanks_ would translate as best it could across languages that did not cross paths.

Batgirl kissing the cheek of a good samaritan seemed to carry a weight with it that she hadn't understood at the time, however. Not until she had seen on the news for herself that the good samaritan was missing.

Her kiss was as good as a kiss of Death then.

She traveled the city, pointing at maps, looking at signs with their nonsensical lines and inarticulate written gestures.

And she made it to where he was kept, but she did not do it timely enough.

The man was weak, fading, and a piece of paper like what Oracle was always pushing for her to try was shoved into her hand.

"Wait," he pleaded when Cassandra tried to lift him up. "Please. _Stop._ No time. Please. My wife. _Please. My wife._ "

Then she watched his eyes and, once again, it was pain, it was fear – but it was also love, and it was courage, it was _trust._ It was so much worse than what she had seen before at her own hands because those final emotions ripped through the bat on her chest and pulled out her heart to lay bear.

Then. There was nothing.

In the corner of her eyes, beneath the full head mask of her suit, Cassandra saw Death again. For a moment, for a sad smile.

Then the rage took over. The man was dead, and Cassandra was fighting tooth and nail to make people pay.

And she did.

But Death did not come again that day.

* * *

It seemed like their meetings were always when _time_ was not on Cassandra's side.

Death had supposedly come for Batman, and she was alone in the world. But she was not without her mission.

Her mission to stop Death at every opportunity that she could, for every person that she could.

If she failed her loved ones, she tried to ease the pain by saving crooks, criminals, and thieves. Taking the time to save the _cowardly lot_ from themselves.

And, as ever, time was working against her.

By the time she heard the gunshots, Cassandra could not cross the Hong Kong rooftops fast enough to stop the gang shooting.

Two groups, three down, and one was not getting back up.

It took only two batarangs to disarm who was left, two kicks to knock out those that were up, and a bent knee to pick up the young man who was bleeding profusely from his chest.

Cassandra looked into his eyes, and he looked back into hers. She knew what he was feeling before he said it.

"Wǒ bùxiǎng sǐ," he whimpered. _I don't want to die._

Squeezing the hold she had on his shoulders, Cassandra responded, timidly, "Shì."

Lightning fast, she laid the man down and began to remove the kevlar scarf that covered most of her neck and shoulders, using it as a compress for the man's wounds.

It was in the middle of this that there was a sigh – a sigh that sent a shiver down Cassandra's spine – followed by, "Bùyào zuò chū nǐ bùnéng bǎozhèng de chéngnuò."

 _Don't make promises you can't keep._

For the first time, when Cassandra looked up, she saw Death head-on.

There was no corners she hid behind, there were no shadows. She was there, unnaturally white, stylish, perhaps a bit wild by the smile on her face and the volume of her hair.

But it was the _smile_ that struck fear in Cassandra most of all.

"Hello again," Death said simply. "We really must stop meeting like this."

Cassandra was stunned, too stunned to move at first. But as feeling came back into her limbs, she began to feel a mounting anger. A _defiance_ that was at the core of her being. And, very quickly, she returned to trying to save the shot man's life.

Blood was on her hands again. But it was for very different reasons.

Sometime during Cass' first aid, the man lost consciousness. Also, Death had moved to sitting on the other side of him, smiling and watching Cassandra with almost childlike curiosity.

"No," Cass said to her directly, then began to perform CPR, just like she had learned from Stephanie.

"Hmm," Death mused. "CPR for a bullet wound to the spleen. I suppose humans are always looking at _alternative medicine_ in some way or another, aren't they?"

Ignoring her, Cass continued working. The blood wouldn't stop. Death didn't leave.

Burning tears were working themselves into Cassandra's eyes.

Finally, Cass looked up angrily at Death. "Why are you here?" she demanded angrily.

Death smiled sympathetically. "You know why I'm here."

"Stop," Cass snapped. "He needs… _Everyone_ gets a second chance!"

There was something of a lofty sigh from Death. "Now, that's not entirely true. Maybe everyone _deserves_ one, but people so rarely seem to _get_ them. You should know that."

Cassandra gave the woman a glare that could cut through steel.

Rather than angered by the defiance, Death seemed genuinely surprised. Perhaps, even _impressed._ "Wow," she said. "You really _do_ believe it."

As Cassandra went back to work, she hoped that Death would finally understand and _leave._

She had no such luck.

"Of course, humans often mistake _believing_ things with them being _true._ It's such a curious part of your nature. So fascinating. And lovely. At _times,"_ Death bantered. "Of course, I'm less pleased with the times that it just brings me extra business."

When Cassandra attempted to ignore her, Death repositioned herself, fully sitting in the alley, her legs kicked out, leaning back with her palms on the pavement. She was stylish but didn't seem to care much about getting down and dirty.

Appropriate for Death, perhaps.

"Go," Cassandra instructed.

"He's not a good person, if that's what you're thinking," Death explained. "I know these things intimately. If he survived, he'd be in another shootout more likely than he wouldn't be."

"Don't care," Cass said. She then faced Death head on, leering dangerously. "I'm not afraid."

"I know," Death said, some mischief growing into that ever present smile. "And yet, you've ran away from me yourself twice. So I _know_ you're aware I don't discriminate. How's it go? Between the _sinners_ and the _saints._ I'm welcoming to them all."

Cassandra's work slowed, her eyes were blurring. "Go. _Please."_

Death stayed.

"You have a very black and white worldview, my young friend," Death said gently. "If I am not a friend, I must be an enemy. If you're not good, you're _bad._ And that's made you view me in a not so flattering light, honestly. It's okay. I don't take these things personally." She paused and tilted her head. "You're a smart girl, you know? But you're also stubborn. So I _know_ you already know this, but you need someone _else_ to say it to make it real."

"Please," Cass begged, not working on the man in her lap at all. Only holding him.

"A life never equals a life. So saving the world, it's not going to give back the person you feel so guilty for taking," Death said. She managed to be sweet, nurturing, but still harsh. Like knives digging into Cass' flesh. "You help people because you're _good._ And you killed someone because you were raised _bad._ But you're still good today. That's an impressive feat." She paused. "Look, let me appeal to your _compassion._ Because you love people. You want to think of me as terror, as something hateful and ugly. Maybe you still think of me that way even looking at me as I am now. I hope not. I worked very hard on stylizing myself. But you have to know that sometimes I'm a good thing. Sometimes death is the _compassionate_ force."

"It's… _nothing,"_ Cass argued weakly.

"But life is _something,"_ Death countered. "So just think of me as a hard truth – a reminder."

Cass looked up at Death, faced her head on. Looked deep into the eyes of Death herself and saw…

It wasn't _nothing._

Her grip on the man loosened.

"He's gone," Cass admitted.

"Yes," Death said softly.

"Couldn't… Couldn't do anything," Cass sobered up.

"No one could," Death replied.

At once, they both stood up. Cassandra stared at Death, and Death stared back.

"I can't stop you," Cassandra announced, as if it were something marvel.

"No," Death assured her. "I come for everyone. Eventually." Her smile brightened. "But you can do your job, keep me on my toes. Just… don't be so scared of me, alright? Know I'm not nothing. And _life_ is the real _something."_

Cass left the alley, speechless, just as sirens came from the distance.

Death had already disappeared by the time Cass turned around.

But then, she was always around.


End file.
